


Light You Up

by Anonymous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Deviates From Canon, F/M, Post 3a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 20:48:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4579518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A threat from Chris's past shows up near the end of Allison's senior year. Lydia is the key to keeping Allison safe—and maybe that's why he can't stop seeing her as his equal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light You Up

**Author's Note:**

> This swerves away from canon after 3A. 
> 
> Lydia is eighteen in this. (So the relationship is not illegal, but still not really appropriate.)
> 
> Title and much inspiration for this story taken from Shawn Mullins' [Light You Up](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SmY05SPx7_c).

The wind gusted again, biting at his ears and the back of his neck like a raging werewolf, threatening to rip the skin right off his bones. Chris turned up the collar on his jacket, wishing he'd thought to grab his wool coat before he headed out for the night. The weather in Northern California could turn on a dime in late spring, but the precipitous drop today had caught him off-guard.

Chris hated being caught off guard.

Some punk kid slammed into him from behind, knocking the breath out of him in a visible cloud. Chris spun around, but the kid was gone, just any one of the laughing young teens gathered between the parking lot and the bleachers. 

The place was packed tonight. Not that that was unusual for the last lacrosse game of the season, but Beacon Hills had already booked their spot in the playoffs. Since West High had barely managed to field a team this year, much less a competitive one, the pre-match atmosphere lacked its usual manic intensity. The teens obviously thought of this as a party, more interested in clustering together rather than getting the hell out of his way.

Chris huffed out another cloudy breath. The weather had him on edge in a way that had nothing to do with the thought of freezing his balls off on the cold metal bleachers for the next several hours. He scanned the crowd yet again, but nothing stuck out. Nobody made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. All he could do was stuff his hands in the pockets and make another push towards the bleachers.

This time, he wasn't so careful with his elbows.

The effort was worth it once he finally made it up the stairs and was greeted by a pair of beautiful faces, eyes shining up at him as they both shot him welcoming grins.

"We were just about to launch a search party," Allison said, the twinkle in her eyes warning him not to take her words too seriously. "Did you get lost?"

"Yep," he said dryly. "I'm just a doddering old fool these days. Can't keep up with young whippersnappers like you two."

"Please," Lydia scoffed as she snatched a pair of programs off the bench next to her, the clear _TAKEN. DO NOT SIT_ marker of a saved seat at a high school game. "Like you could be any more in your prime."

Chris paused in the act of sitting, caught off guard by the compliment. He glanced over at Allison, but she was already caught up in a conversation with a pair of younger girls in front of her. He finally sat down, then looked back to Lydia, unable to help himself.

"What?" she said, shrugging. "I could go on, but I didn't think you were the kind of guy who needs his ego stroked constantly."

"No, I'm good." Then, even though it felt awkward, he added, "Thank you."

Lydia gave him a regal nod of acknowledgment, then opened the program, gaze as intent on the opposing teams stats as it got when she was translating pages from the bestiary. She'd dressed for the weather tonight, from the leggings under her usual short skirt to the pair of fuzzy earmuffs perfectly coordinated with her wool coat. She seemed completely untouched by the frost in the air—except for the slightly pink tip of her nose.

Chris forced his gaze away, aware that Lydia would be embarrassed if she caught him staring at what she would undoubtedly think of as an imperfection. He pulled out his phone instead, scrolling through his texts, then the list of missed calls, relieved and worried both when nothing new popped up.

"Trouble?" Lydia asked, leaning against his shoulder so she could peer at his screen.

"No, not really."

Her arched eyebrow said everything she needed to.

Chris sighed. "Melissa and John both got called in on emergencies tonight." 

After what had happened with the Darach, with the Nemeton, the three of them had made a pact that at least one of them would always attend the kids' events. Melissa and John were more invested in lacrosse than he was, of course, since both Scott and Stiles were first line, but they were also more likely to be called away at a moment's notice than he was.

Unless, of course, evil decided to rear its head again.

"You think something's behind that?" Lydia asked softly.

Chris slid his phone back into his pocket and shook his head. "No, probably not. But it never hurts to keep your eyes open. I know things have been good lately, but that just makes it that much easier to be lulled into complacency."

"In other words, I'm not the only one waiting for the shit to hit the fan." She gave him a wan smile, then turned back to her program. 

It shouldn't make him feel better to know that Lydia sensed something, too, but something settled inside him anyway. The cold was just the cold, nothing more, the bleachers leaching away the sensation in his lower body merely an annoyance. Chris crossed his arms over his chest, stuffed his hands under his armpits, and told himself he'd been through a hell of a lot worse in his life—some of it voluntarily. 

Force of will be damned, his thighs still felt like someone had taken a birch sapling to them. 

"You look like you're freezing," Lydia said, cocking her head like she'd just discovered a new, enticing math problem to solve.

Chris shrugged. "I'll survive."

"Oh, my God, save us all from male pride." She stood up, hands on her hips as she stared down at him. He stared back at her, not sure what she expected from him. "Well? Stand up. Or do you not want me to warm you up?"

Chris stared at her for a moment. She stared right back at him, eyebrow arched, lip quirked just enough to make it clear that she'd meant the double entendre. 

He stood up.

Lydia immediately set about opening up the folded blanket she'd been sitting on, spreading a single layer over the stretch of bleacher seat that they were sharing. Chris glanced at Allison, wondering if she might need the warmth more than he did, but she was cozily wrapped up in the quilt that usually sat at the foot of her bed. 

"Here," Lydia said, fluttering a corner of the blanket at him. "Grab it with your left hand."

He did what she said, and a second later her plan became clear. They sat down on half of the blanket, leaving the upper half draped over their shoulders. Lydia pressed in close to his side, allowing her to draw the blanket more tightly around them.

"How's that?" she asked, smiling up at him.

"Better," he said, then cleared his throat of the frog that had gotten stuck in it. "Actually, I don't think—"

"Oh, look," Lydia said, clutching at his forearm as she leaned forward. "They're about to face off."

He sighed and turned his attention to the field, knowing he'd lost this round. He might as well settle in and take the opportunity to learn something about the game. Chris hardly watched a match the first two seasons Chris had attended the games, always more intent on the players than the plays, worried that a bunch of teenage werewolves would lose control and start rampaging through the crowds. Scott finally had his pack under control, though, and thanks to Lydia's commentary, he was quickly realizing how many intricacies of lacrosse he'd missed. 

It was clear within the first five minutes that the game was going to be a blowout. That didn't dampen Lydia's enthusiasm, though. Beacon Hills scored another goal and Lydia bounded to her feet, cheering wildly. Chris snagged the blanket as it fluttered off her shoulders, helping her get it resettled after she sat back down. 

Somehow, he wound up with his arm around her shoulders. He started to pull away, but she sighed and snuggled in closer.

"You don't mind, do you?" she asked, eyes disingenuously wide. "I'm still freezing."

He gave her wool coat an incredulous glance. His own side was so warm now he was on the verge of breaking into a sweat. Still, he left his arm where it was. Lydia was being particularly bold tonight, but he was used to her dares. Playing along with her was probably a bad idea, but it was only a game, after all, and retreating back into the cold held little appeal.

(Victoria always was fond of huddling for warmth.)

They sat like that, melting together under the blanket, until Lydia let out a little sigh and dropped her head onto his shoulder. He caught himself dropping his own head, trying to catch the scent of her hair. West High called a timeout, just before the half, and Chris stood abruptly.

"I'm going to grab a coffee before the crowds hit," he said. "You girls want anything?"

Allison shook her head, still busy talking to her other friends, but Lydia stood as well.

"I'm not sure what I want," she says, laying her hand on his shoulder. "I'll come with you."

At the bottom of the stairs, he turned and held his hand out, the gesture instinctive, even though none of the women in his life would have ever accepted the gesture. He knew Lydia didn't need the help, either; he'd seen her pick her way through the woods in higher heels than the ones she wore now. But she set her hand in his as if it was her due, her grip tightening as she made her way down the last few steps. After she reached his side, there was a moment when he thought she wasn't going to drop his hand—but she did. 

The chill hit Chris's hand immediately.

People were already lined up at the snack shack, not-so-successfully attempting to beat the half-time rush. Chris stuffed his hands into his pockets as he drifted into the queue beside her, watching as she stared up at the menu boards, wondering what her next move was going to be.

When only one couple remained in line ahead of them, Chris asked, "Have you decided yet?"

"Mmm, yes. Definitely the hot chocolate."

Chris nodded towards the kid behind the counter ripping open an envelope of generic hot chocolate mix. "You sure you wouldn't rather go with the coffee?"

"Oh, I don't drink coffee." At his look, she parted her lips, flashing her bright white teeth. "It stains your enamel."

"Right." He tried not to feel self-conscious as he stepped up to the counter and ordered a coffee for himself, along with her hot chocolate. His toothpaste did a good enough job on his own coffee habit, or surely Lydia would have made some snarky remark in the past. 

Not that he cared what she thought about his teeth.

Chris rolled his eyes at himself, then handed over his money. The cups were small, but they felt like lava bombs in his frozen hands. Lydia had stepped to the side, where a small group of people had gathered halfway between the bleachers and the concession stand to talk. Chris followed her over there, holding out the hot chocolate for her to take.

"Thank you," she said, accepting it eagerly. She'd taken off her gloves, and she closed her eyes as she wrapped her bare hands around the stiff paper cup. 

"You're welcome." Chris lifted his coffee to his mouth, but he'd barely had to touch his lip to it to know it was scalding hot. He found himself mimicking Lydia, cradling the cup in both hands, holding it up close to his face where the escaping steam could warm his cold nose and cheeks. "Are you enjoying the game?"

"Oh, definitely." Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks, and then she peeked up through them, looking sincerely shy. "What about you?"

"It's definitely been educational," he said, flashing her a smile. "I didn't realize you knew so much about lacrosse."

Lydia shrugged. "It's how I am. If something's worth knowing, then it's worth knowing everything about it."

"That, I knew about you." He looked down at his cup, dragging his thumb nail against the protective paper cuff. "It seems like more than that, though. Have you ever thought about playing?"

"What, lacrosse?" Lydia snorted, then gestured down her body. "You have noticed I'm lacking a certain requirement, haven't you?"

For a second his gaze followed her hand before Chris remembered himself and jerked his head up. His face heated, but between the cold air and the hot coffee, there was no way she'd be able to read his shame off his skin. "I didn't mean for Beacon Hills. There are women's leagues out there, aren't there?"

She shrugged, staring down into her cup. "Stanford has a team. But I've never even picked up a stick." She snorted, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Besides. I know the heels are misleading, but hello, I'm short. I'd be nothing more than a speed bump out on the field."

"I seriously doubt that." Lydia wasn't someone who struck him as particularly physical, and yes, she was slight, but she had a fire that would see her through anything. Combined with her brilliance…. Chris shook his head. "You should at least try it out. Maybe you don't make the team, but I think you'll surprise yourself."

She bit her lip. "Maybe. It's a thought. I probably won't have time, what with my course load and everything else." Her eyes flicked to his, and he nodded in acknowledgment. She still didn't understand everything about being a banshee, her abilities awakening bit by bit, and Chris knew she was worried about what would happen when she moved away from home. 

Then her eyes lit up, and she smiled. "If I do make the team, will you come watch my first game?"

"If I say yes, will you promise to at least think about trying out?"

"Definitely." Her lips quirked. "Although, I warn you. The rules are quite a bit different from men's lacrosse."

"I guess you'll just have to tutor me, then."

"I can think of worse bargains." She brought her cup up towards her mouth, but it didn't do anything to hide her smirk, or the flirtatious look in her eyes. 

Chris opened his mouth to say something, probably something damningly stupid, when her gaze danced to the side and her mouth tightened. He glanced over his shoulder, trying to spot whatever had displeased her that much, but no threats immediately leapt to his attention.

"What?" he asked.

"Ms. Bidwell," she said under her breath, tipping her head slightly in the direction she'd been looking.

He wasn't sure who Ms. Bidwell was, but Chris scanned the crowd gathered near the bleachers anyway. Now that he'd stopped looking for physical danger, he had no trouble picking out a fifty-ish woman standing with her arms crossed over her chest, mouth twisted disapprovingly as she glared back at him.

"Is she one of your teachers?"

"She's the new nurse, but she likes to think she's the school counselor." Lydia snorted. "Everyone calls her Ms. Biddy, because she's always sticking her nose in your business, whether you've got an appointment with her or not."

Chris looked back to the woman, meeting her hostility with a pleasant smile, the one that used to always make Victoria roll her eyes and tell him nobody ever bought that 'butter won't melt' crap he was dishing up. "So what's her problem with me? I've never even met the woman."

"She doesn't have a problem with _you_ ," Lydia said. When he shot her a disbelieving look, she rolled her eyes again. "She has a problem with _us_."

Chris choked. He took a quick swallow of his coffee to cover it, but that didn't stop Lydia from smirking up at him.

"What? It's not like it'd be any of her business, even if it were true. I _am_ eighteen, after all." 

"Christ, Lydia." He rubbed at the tight spot between his eyebrows. He couldn't put a stamp on the date when their flirting had started, though it might have been as far back as the first time she'd walked through the door at Allison's side, her searing gaze swooping down and back up his body like he was a particularly delicious ice cream treat. But whatever passed between them, it was always innocent. If Lydia licked her lips now and then when she looked at him, if he every so often shot her a wink, that was still all it was. It didn't _mean_ anything. 

It couldn't. 

"Ms. Bidwell has an overactive imagination," Lydia said, dropping the coquettish look. "You should just go talk to her. I mean, nobody who's ever met you would ever think you'd ever do something so...inappropriate." 

"Lydia—"

"This hot chocolate is disgusting," she said, grimacing down at her cup before she turned and dropped it into the trash barrel. She slapped her hands together, like she was dusting away the nasty remnants of their conversation. "The second half's about to start. We'd better get back."

She didn't give him a chance to disagree, just turned on her heel and started making her way back to the stands, the crowd parting around her like the queen bee she was. Chris didn't try to keep up. Instead, he looked back to Ms. Bidwell, letting ice creep into his eyes until she blushed and turned away. Then he finished off his own less-than-stellar coffee, dropped the cup in the trash, and headed back up to his seat.

He had a feeling he wasn't going to be talking to Ms. Bidwell any time soon.

* * *

"Oh, Chris," Victoria says, stroking her nails down his stubble. Her blouse is deep emerald green and scoop-necked, showing off the long line of her throat. _It keeps their eyes on me,_ she'd explained to him once. _Never undervalue any source of power you have at hand. Even if it seems beneath you._ "You've been a bad boy."

"I didn't mean to be," he says, leaning in to touch his forehead to hers. She's silk and steel, the same as she's always been, right up until the end when he drove her favorite knife into her heart. "Tell me how to fix it."

"Shhh. Of course." She kisses him lightly, palms cradling his face, and then she takes a step back, smiling at him. "You just have to pay attention. Study hard."

She steps to the side—and Lydia is in front of him, stretched out across his bed, head propped on her hand as she smirks up at him. The hem of her deep blue teddy has crept up her thigh, revealing the swell of her ass, the shadowed crease of her groin.

Chris swallows and looks back to Victoria. "I don't…. What do you want from me?"

"What do you think I want?" Lydia answers. She shifts to her hands and knees, slinking across the bed until she's in front of him. She runs her hands down his chest, gently, until her fingers hook in his waistband, yanking hard. "I want you to try. How can you make the team if you don't ever pick up your stick?"

"See, Chris?" Victoria strokes her hand through Lydia's hair, nails rasping against her scalp. "You just have to learn the rules."

"Don't worry, I'll teach you." Lydia slips off the bed and sinks down to her knees. She opens her mouth wide, wider, wider still, her whole body clenching tight before she tips her head back and the scream rips out of her, hitting him square in the chest, the force of it like an explosive shockwave, hard enough to stop his heart.

* * *

Chris jerked awake. He pushed himself over and scrambled upwards, just barely catching himself before he tumbled out of bed. His ears were ringing, Lydia's scream still very real inside his head, but the only sound in the room was his own labored breathing. A dull glow came from under the crack of his bedroom door, the light they always left on in the kitchen doing its job enough for him to tell that he was alone in the room. 

He scrubbed at his face, just enough to get his bearings, then finished untangling the sheet from his legs, his hands clumsy with sleep and shaky with the remains of his arousal. He'd been lying face down, and though Lydia's psychic scream had killed whatever erection he'd had, the strain in his hips, the unrelieved ache in his balls were proof enough of what he'd been doing while he slept.

Knuckles rapped against his door. "Dad?"

"Yeah," he croaked, snagging his jeans off the chair beside the bed. "I'll be out in a second."

He grabbed his gun, checked the clip and the safety, and holstered it in the back of his waistband. His boots and jacket were in the hall closet; he didn't bother to waste time on socks. Lydia might not have the seconds to spare. 

Allison stood just outside his door, still in the shorts and T-shirt combo that she wore as pajamas these days, phone in hand. She held it up when Chris frowned at her.

"Lydia sent the all clear," she said.

Chris slumped against the wall, dragging his hands down his face, but the adrenaline racing through him didn't drain away so quickly. Lydia's voiced screams were piercing enough to be heard halfway across town on a clear night, but that hadn't been what woke him. They'd discovered, close to a year ago now, that she could project psychic screams to those in her close circle. Peter Hale had been the one to trigger the ability, overestimating his cleverness as usual, thinking a simple gag would be enough to stop Lydia from being able to reach out for help.

Not that she'd needed anyone's hands but her own to save her, in the end.

"You're sure she's okay?" 

Allison shrugged. "She says that she doesn't think there's anything to worry about, that it was just a bad dream."

"Just a bad dream." Chris snorted. Other than the time with Peter, the few times she'd sent out a psychic scream had been while she'd been sleeping. It was always a sign of something bad on the horizon. Death, mostly. "There's no such thing as just a bad dream where Lydia Martin's concerned."

Allison sighed. "Yeah, I know, but she insisted she doesn't remember what it was about, so it's not like we can do anything until she does. Unless you want to stand watch in her bedroom for the sandman?"

"Don't even joke about that. Sandmen aren't real." Chris picked at the sand at the corners of his eyes, hoping that his conviction was enough to make his words truth. He didn't need to be living out the images that haunted his nights, no matter how much he'd give to have Victoria back. "I could drive around for a while, see if I spot anything."

"Yeah, and what if something jumps out at you? I mean that literally." Allison shook her head. "Come on, Dad. It's the middle of the night and we're both exhausted. If we want to get to the bottom of this, we need to do it when we're rested up and thinking straight."

He sighed. It had been hard to miss how much Allison had grown up in the past couple of years, how much she'd matured after all she'd been through, but it was times like these that really brought her strengths home to him. Times when she was the one pointing out the flaws in his thinking, coming up with the better plan, reminding him so much of Victoria that his throat closed down and he could hardly breathe.

"You're right," he finally said. He pulled her in for a hug, then nudged her towards her bedroom. "Go on. We'll see what the light of day brings us."

"'Night," she said, shooting him a small smile before she headed back to bed.

Her bedroom door was almost closed when he called out to her. "Allison."

"Yeah?" she asked, sticking her head back out into the hall.

"Have you been sleeping okay? Any dreams of your own?"

She shook her head firmly. "Not anything bad. Not like _those_."

Chris let out a grateful sigh. He respected the sacrifice Allison and the boys had made to the Nemeton, but if he'd ever had a choice in the matter, he would have chosen death rather than allow her to tie her soul to that damned tree. The nightmares she'd had for the months following the sacrifice had been bad enough, but the days of blankness behind her eyes had truly chilled him to the bone.

"Good. That's good," he said. And then, because he couldn't let it alone, he added, "Why don't you text Lydia, ask if her she wants a ride to school in the morning."

"I will." She darted forward, kissing his cheek. "Thanks, Dad."

"Of course." He waited until she closed her door, then headed back to his bedroom, depositing shoes, gun, and clothes along the way. He'd just crawled under the covers when his own forgotten phone buzzed with the sound of an incoming text.

_Allison says you're willing to play chauffeur tomorrow. Don't suppose you'd audition for all-out hero and swing by Starbucks on the way?_

He stroked his thumb over the keyboard, hesitating. He could ignore her text, pretend that he was asleep, and it wouldn't matter. Then again, it wouldn't hurt anything to reply to her, either. Not when it was a simple request like that.

_I thought you said you didn't drink coffee?_

_So I'll buy some Whitestrips._ He could practically see her rolling her eyes at him. _But if I don't get some caffeine in the morning, I'm not going to make it through the day._

 _No promises,_ he sent back. _But I'll see what I can do._

She sent an emoji heart in reply. Chris let his thumb hover above the screen for a second. Victoria had always warned him not to let his masochistic streak turn into stupidity. He used to turn it into a joke, tease her about pulling out their toy box in the bedroom, but she always had a point. He let the screen fade to black, then set the phone back on its charger.

His dreams were bad enough; he didn't need to let them creep into reality.

* * *

Chris's gun sat heavy on his hip, begging him to take it in hand before he stepped through the door to face the guy he'd had spotted on his way in—but that wasn't the way things worked in polite society. Instead, he shifted the carryout tray to his left hand, making sure the weight of three coffees wouldn't shift in his grip and distract him at a dangerous moment, and let his right hang free at his side as he shouldered his way out the door.

As he'd expected, the guy took a step forward, planting himself in Chris's path. The man was a couple inches shorter than Chris, with a similar build, white, with a face that had _corn fed in Iowa_ stamped across his forehead. HIs leather jacket looked like it'd seen a couple hundred battles or so, but it was his _I've heard so much about you_ smile that made Chris's gut sink.

"Chris Argent, right?" The guy thrust his hand forward. "I'm Ben Tilden. I knew your father."

"Is that so?" Chris reluctantly offered his own hand. Tilden's grip was firm, his palm callused in a familiar way. "I'm afraid you're about six months late if you're in town for the funeral."

Tilden grimaced. "Yeah, sorry about that. I've been out of the country for a while. I had no idea he was even sick until I picked up my mail a couple weeks ago. Took me about that long to catch up with everything else and get myself out here."

"He sent you a letter," Chris said flatly. Acid curdled his gut like he'd polished off all three Ventis on his own. "Did he mention I'm retired?"

"That he did, which is why I'm out here." Tilden peered over Chris's shoulder, through the glass Starbucks door, then glanced around like he expected a werewolf to pop out from behind one of the streetlights at any moment. "Is there anywhere we could go talk about this in private?"

"Not particularly," Chris said, offering up a tight smile. 'Private' to a hunter meant somewhere bunkered down as tightly as possible. The kind of place you could safely plan a raid without worrying about supernatural ears listening in. The kind of place where you could keep teenagers tied up for hours while you tortured them for no other reason than it suited your plans. Tilden most certainly expected Chris to open his home up to him, but that wasn't going to happen. Not if Chris could help it. 

"I have to drop my daughter off at school right now," Chris continued. "But we could meet at the diner down the street. It's dead that time of day, and I swear the waitress there is half-deaf. Either that or she just doesn't like me."

Tilden snorted. "The real question is, how's their cherry pie?"

"The best in town," Chris said, grinning. "Why else do you think I even bother with the place?"

"Cherry pie it is, then. I'll see you there. Is half an hour good?"

"I'll be there with bells on." Chris smiled pleasantly, holding his ground until Tilden nodded and walked away. He climbed into a black Explorer with the windows tinted dark. Chris watched until the Explorer turned down Elm, then hurried back to his own car.

"What was that about?" Allison asked as soon as he opened the door. Her backpack was unzipped, offering a glimpse of the mini-crossbow he'd given her last fall to replace the one he'd ripped apart. "Do you know that guy?"

Chris shook his head, then started the engine. He turned the opposite way on Elm from what Tilden had, then took several random rights and lefts before he started heading towards Lydia's.

"Dad. Talk to me."

"I don't know him. Said his name is Ben Tilden." Chris checked the rearview mirror, then passed a couple cars and checked again. "Apparently Gerard sent him."

"Fuck!" Allison twisted around in her seat, staring back at the cars behind them. "Did he say why?"

"Language," Chris said mildly. He checked the rearview one more time, then finally turned into Lydia's subdivision. "Just that Gerard sent him a letter. We're going to meet at the Forty-Niner Diner after I drop you guys off at school."

"Alone? Dad, you can't. You don't know anything about this guy."

Chris pulled over to the curb, throwing the engine into park so he could give her his full attention. "Allison. Sweetheart. I _have_ done this kind of thing before, remember? We're meeting in a public place in the middle of the day. It'll be okay."

Allison bit her lip, then nodded jerkily. "If you say so. It's just, after Lydia last night…."

"It could still be a coincidence." He laughed lightly at the look she shot him. "Don't worry. I don't believe that, either. But we can't get ahead of ourselves, either."

"I know." She smiled wanly. "I was starting to get used to everything be good, you know?"

"Me, too." He squeezed her hand, then slipped the gear shift back into drive, checking the mirrors again before he pulled back onto the street. "What do you say we keep this to ourselves until I know more? Or will Lydia know something's up?"

Allison shook her head. "No, I can handle it. But we need to tell her as soon as you find out anything. Scott and the others, too."

Chris frowned, letting her statement go in favor of turning into the Martins' driveway.

"Dad. Promise me I won't have to tell them myself."

"I promise," he said. Scott and his pack would bristle worse than cats lost in a dog park once they found out that another hunter was in the area. John and Melissa wouldn't be much better, but at least they'd appreciate the fact that Chris was sharing his information. "Go ahead and pass the word that we have stuff to discuss tonight."

Allison let out a heavy sigh. "Lydia'll think we're making a big deal about her."

"Well, she won't be wrong." He had just enough time to paste a smile onto his face before the door behind him opened and Lydia climbed in. "Good morning."

"Oh, God. Do not even try to pull that polite shit with me this morning." She thrust her hand between the seats. "Coffee."

Allison pressed a cup into her impatient hand. "Did something else happen?" she asked.

"You mean something besides giving myself a headache from hell?" Lydia rubbed at her temple with her free hand. "No. I just hate this. What's the point of having these dreams if I can never remember what I dream about? Most useless superpower ever."

"It's something," Chris said, pulling back onto the road. "Your warnings have been all that we've had sometimes."

"Yeah," Lydia said softly. After a moment, she let out a little huff of a laugh. "Well. At least my mother's out of town this week, in case I start screaming for real."

Chris glanced over at Allison, and found her already sending him a pleading look. He nodded.

"She's gone all week?" Allison asked.

"Yeah, there's a big conference down in San Francisco that she couldn't get out of," Lydia said. "I'd throw a big party, but somehow the whole screaming potential always puts me off my hostess game."

"Why don't you stay stay with us," Allison said, as if the idea had just occurred to her. She'd become a pretty good actress, his daughter, which wasn't something Chris was entirely happy about. "Week long slumber party, yay!"

Chris glanced up at the rear view mirror in time to catch Lydia's sardonic eyebrow. "Okay, what's going on? You're hiding something from me."

"Why do you think that?" Allison asked.

"Uh, maybe because you just answered my question with a question?"

Chris sighed. "We're worried, Lydia. We all know that last night was a portent of some kind. Both Allison and I would feel better if you weren't on your own at night."

Lydia pursed her lips. Then, as if she'd never even questioned their intentions, she smiled brightly. "Okay. Make sure you're on time to pick us up tonight, though. It's going to take some time to pack my bags."

"Yes, ma'am," Chris said dryly. "I'll just make sure my uniform's well-creased and my shoes are spit-polished, too, while I'm at it."

"Now that, I'd like to see." Lydia sat forward, setting her empty coffee cup back in the carryout tray. Her left hand came up as she did so, ever so casually coming to rest on the back of Chris's neck. She didn't leave it there long, but as she settled back in her seat, her fingers trailed over his skin, sending a flash of fire all the way down his spine.

Chris put the blinker on and turned into the school lot, ignoring the way her eyes gleamed at him in the rearview mirror.

* * *

The Forty-Niner Diner was one of those faux-retro diners that had been all the rage a few years back, built in a reconditioned train car, all chromed up and polished so bright that you'd be forgiven for thinking grease had never touched grill. Chris had discovered it a couple years ago, one melancholy afternoon when he'd been craving Victoria's pie so badly he could taste it. He'd since discovered it was a good place to meet up with the sheriff or Melissa McCall when either one couldn't get away from their jobs for longer than a twenty minute meal break.

Maddy, the regular day shift waitress, took one look at his face, then a longer glance at Tilden standing behind him, and led them straight back to his preferred booth at the far end of the car. She was sharper than he'd implied to Tilden earlier, and definitely not hard of hearing, but Tilden didn't give her a second glance after he'd ordered pie and coffee. Chris echoed his order, offering her a small smile and a slight nod that was good enough to get her heading back to the counter without another word.

Once she was out of earshot, Chris leaned forward, folding his hands on the table in front of him. "You said my father sent you a letter?"

Tilden held up a hand, then pulled a small white noise generator out of his pocket, switched it on, and set it down next to the salt and pepper shakers. "I'm not old-fashioned, but that doesn't mean I don't believe in taking precautions," he said. "As to your question, yes. I don't have it on me at the moment, but the gist of it was that Gerard was dying, you were retired, and he needed someone to clean up a situation that he couldn't count on you to take care of."

Chris smiled tightly. "I guess you could say we weren't on the best of terms near the end. If there was a problem that concerned him, it wasn't something he mentioned to me. It can't have been too important, though, because things have been quiet around Beacon Hills since before he died."

Tilden glanced over at the counter, where Maddy was topping off their slices of pie with hefty dollops of whipped cream. He pursed his lips, studying Chris for a long moment before he spoke. "You haven't heard of something called the Nemeton, then?"

Chris frowned very carefully. "The what?"

Tilden sat back, and a few seconds later Maddy deposited the pies and coffee in front of them. Chris shot her a grateful smile, and she winked back at him. Could be she actually liked him, but it was more likely that she thought that anyone who shared a friendly meal with the sheriff on a fairly regular basis couldn't be all that bad. Whichever it was, Chris was grateful, because when a young couple came in a few seconds later, Maddy made sure to seat them on the opposite side of the diner.

Chris drew his fork across the top of his slice of pie, carefully scraping the whip cream away and dropping it into his mug. "You were saying?" 

Tilden snorted. "You might say you're retired, but I know interest when I hear it. Can't quite quench the fire once it's in your blood, can you?"

"I got out of the business to protect my daughter," Chris said, not bothering to tamp down the little growl that truth brought to his voice. "If there's something out there that's a potential danger to her, I need to know about it."

Tilden nodded. "Well, this might be exactly that. Gerard called it the Nemeton."

Chris's blood went cold. "The what?"

"N-E-M-E-T-O-N. Some kind of magical tree. I'm surprised he didn't say something to you, because it's supposed to draw all kinds of monsters to it, not just werewolves."

"A magical tree." Chris sighed casually, like his pulse wasn't pounding in his ears, like his fingers weren't clenched into his own thigh to keep them away from his gun, and then shook his head. "It's not the craziest thing I've ever heard of. But if it's supposed to be that big of a draw, there's nothing like that around here."

He wasn't even entirely lying. The spell they'd performed after Peter Hale's grab for power still seemed to be holding the Nemeton dormant. Not that Chris planned on sharing that information with Tilden, of course.

"Well, that's a nice thought, for sure." Tilden dug into his pie. He chewed through a few bites, eyes drifting closed as he savored it. He swallowed, then beat the air a couple times with the tines of his fork. "If it's all the same to you, I'm going to take a look around, see what I turn up. Your father made it clear that it was something that couldn't be left to cause trouble."

 _Fucking Gerard._ Chris's jaw ached from the effort of not grinding his back teeth. Maybe Gerard hadn't actually known about the link between Allison and the Nemeton. Maybe he wasn't actually that determined to reach out and drag the last of his line down into the grave with him. 

And maybe the man was kicking back behind the pearly gates, giving out lollipops to the cherubs playing their harps. Anything was possible.

He'd had the chance to kill his own father, back when he'd first realized what the man had become, but he hadn't owned enough of the Argent family iciness to actually pull the trigger. Now that decision was biting them in the ass, all over again.

"I appreciate that," Chris finally said. "But honestly? I think you're hunting snipe. He wasn't lucid near the end, not after the cancer made it to his brain. He thought everything was after him."

"Such a shame," Tilden murmured, with enough sincerity that Chris had to remind himself to cast his own eyes down, nodding with the appropriate amount of sincerity for a grieving son. "I appreciate your candor, but it was his last request to me, so."

Chris nodded. "I understand. And thank you. I know it'd mean a lot to him, that you're taking it so seriously."

"Of course. And if there's anything you think of, any notes he might have left…."

"I'll be sure to let you know." Chris stood up, pulling a couple of bills out of his wallet and dropping them on the table. "But if you'll excuse me, I want to check on a few things. I'm afraid our conversation's left me a bit unsettled."

"I getcha, man." Tilden waved at Chris's untouched plate. "At least get a box for that."

"Help yourself," Chris said. "I'm afraid I've lost my appetite."

That, at least, was the straight-up truth.

* * *

"I'm sorry," Melissa McCall said, taking a step forward, hands perched aggressively on her hips. "Are we _actually_ plotting a man's murder right now?"

The room fell silent. The teens shifted uncomfortably; even Derek looked down at his feet like he wished he could escape from her words. But Deaton's face never lost its constant placidity, and when Chris found Stilinski's gaze across the room, the hardness there promised that the law wouldn't be a problem if Tilden's body somehow turned up in the middle of the woods. The sheriff's honor code might be a little firmer than Chris's own, but neither of them would hesitate to do whatever it took to keep their children safe.

Chris was pretty sure Melissa could be talked around as well, once it was really brought home to her that her son's life was at stake. But he'd rather not try to make that point here, when she was trying to take a moral stand in front of the kids, when she already felt like she was the last bastion of ethics in the room.

"We're not going to kill him, Mom," Scott said, and that was just wonderful, because once he took a stance, moving him called for a lever bigger than Archimedes would be able to come up with. "Not if we can help it. But he might not give us a choice."

Melissa sighed, then pressed her hands together in front of her chest, head down, like she was trying to keep her temper in check, be the calm parental figure she knew she was supposed to be. 

"I understand that," she said. "And God, baby, you know that if it comes down to him or you, I'll pull the trigger myself. But I just think we're skipping ahead to the worst case scenario, instead of trying to figure out the better options first."

"It wouldn't solve anything, anyway," Derek said. When Chris looked over, Derek was staring straight back at him. "It'd just bring more hunters down on top of us once they figure out where he disappeared to. It might take a while, but eventually, they'd come."

Chris frowned, but he held Derek's gaze, knowing that he owed the kid that much at the very least. "Derek's right. Even independent hunters keep in touch with others. Someone, somewhere, knows where Tilden is right now and what his plans are."

They were all silent for a moment, digesting that. Chris would have said more, would have readily offered up all that he knew about hunting society if that was what it took to keep Allison safe, but frankly he didn't even know where to start.

"Okay, look," Stiles finally said. "It's not like this guy has much chance of finding it anyway, right? I mean, the three of us wouldn't have done what we did if it was simply a matter of wandering around the woods until we tripped over it."

"Is that true?" John asked, directing the question to Deaton. "Could we simply do nothing until this Tilden gives up?"

Deaton bobbed his head back and forth. "Theoretically, although we can't discount the possibility that he could use other means to find it, himself."

"And that's also assuming that a bored and frustrated hunter wandering around town asking questions isn't a big problem by himself," Derek added sourly.

"Oh, believe me, I wasn't making that assumption," Stiles said. "But at least it means we don't have to start panicking, right?"

"Nobody's panicking," Allison said, and Chris had a feeling that was a warning directed at himself. "But we can't just ignore him, either."

"Why not?" Melissa asked. "Are you guys really saying that he'll start hunting the pack if he can't find the Nemeton? This guy sounds like he goes wherever the wind blows, from what you said."

Chris wasn't the only one who noticed when Lydia quietly slipped out of the room. Stiles' eyes tracked her out of the room, probably an ingrained habit from his nearly lifelong crush, but then Derek made a huffing noise of disagreement to whatever Deaton had just said, and his gaze instantly snapped back, his mouth already open to add his own cent and a half to the argument. Chris waited for anyone else to realize she'd left, for maybe Allison, at least, to worry about her best friend, but no one did.

He probably shouldn't worry, either. But telling himself that she'd slipped off to use the restroom, or that Lydia was entitled to take a breather without him sticking his nose into her business, didn't keep him from pushing off the cabinet he'd been resting against.

He found her in the clinic's waiting room, sitting in one of the chairs, flipping through a magazine like she didn't have a care in the world.

"Bored?" Chris asked, leaning back against the reception desk, slipping his hands into his front pockets, trying to look just as casual as the facade she was putting on.

Lydia hummed, though whether that was supposed to be a noise of agreement, he had no idea. "I can't stand the smell of antiseptic." She tossed the magazine onto the pile next to her and then picked up another without bothering to look at what she was choosing. "Plays havoc with my sinuses."

"Uh-huh." Chris was ready to wait her out, but to his surprise, it was only a few seconds before she sighed and set the Sports Illustrated aside.

"Sometimes, when people talk about death, I start to smell it." She brought a hand up, touching her lips briefly before she let her fingers drift down to her throat. "Taste it." Her eyes flicked up to him. "Not what most people think death smells like, you know. Not rotting meat. You know what I mean."

Chris nodded. Gerard had smelled like rot from the moment Chris had found him again, had smelled like the foul blackness leaking out of his body, like the evil leaking out of his soul, but he'd been an exception. Chris knew she was talking about. That moment of death when the bowels and bladder released, when something in the soul went still and left a lingering taste in the back of the throat.

"Would you hunt me?" she asked.

"I'm sorry?" Chris took a step forward, dropping his hands as he tried to figure out what she meant.

She shook her head, making an impatient noise. "Not you-you. Hunters. Or, I suppose, ones who don't follow the Code. Would they want to put me down because I'm not human?"

Chris sighed, then crossed the rest of the way to her side, sinking down into the chair next to her. "I've never heard of anyone like you before. Not in any of the stories I've heard, not in any of the bestiaries I've read."

"I know you know I'm not stupid. So I shouldn't have to point out to how condescending that non-answer was."

Chris let out a wry chuckle, smiling down at his hands. "I used to think that we were honorable," he said. "Generous, even. No one I knew would think of harming an innocent, whether that innocent was human or not."

"Or so you thought," Lydia murmured.

Chris nodded. "Or so I thought."

"What do you think now?"

"Now?" Chris looked up, making sure to meet her eyes directly. "Now I think they wouldn't hesitate to slaughter us all. They wouldn't even take time to figure out whether you're human or not."

"That's what I thought." Lydia stood up, smoothing out the lines of her skirt before she looked back to him. "Thank you for being honest with me. It suits you, you know."

His eyes narrowed, but she didn't acknowledge her hit, simply turned on her heel and headed towards the back room. Chris watched her go, then slowly rose to his feet and followed.

"You're missing the obvious," Lydia was saying as he slipped into the surgery behind her. 

"And what would that be, Miss Martin?" Deaton asked.

"How do you ever handle a man?" Lydia set her hands on her hips, eyebrow cocked as she stared him down. "Give him exactly what he wants."

Chris watched, amused, as everyone frowned, eyebrows drawing together like a choreographed dance. No, not everyone. All the men. Melissa's lips quirked up, and Allison….

Allison grinned. "Or what he _thinks_ he wants."

"Isn't that what I said?" Lydia turned towards Chris. "You're going to let Tilden know _exactly_ where the Nemeton is."

* * *

Chris startled awake. He'd been dreaming again, but what, he couldn't remember. Something that had his heart racing in his chest, but at least he hadn't been rubbing off on the bed this time. He sat up, rubbing the grit from his eyes, and then reached for his phone. No messages, no texts, so whatever had woken him, his phone hadn't been it.

He pulled his jeans on, then stumbled out to the kitchen, still half asleep. He filled a glass of water from the tap, drained it, then filled it again. He turned around, resting his hips against the counter, and raised the glass to take another sip.

Lydia was tucked into the corner of the living room couch.

At first, he thought she was asleep. She was still in that ridiculous blue satin negligee she'd paraded around in before Chris had escaped to bed, but there was nothing sexual about her posture now. Sensual, yes, with her feet curled under her ass, her cheek resting on her folded arm, hair messily haloed around her head. He shouldn't stare at her, especially when she didn't know he was here, but he didn't have any prurient motive. Not really. He just liked being able to look at her when she wasn't trying to be whatever she thought people wanted to see.

She turned her head, and Chris nearly dropped his glass of water.

"I dreamed about you, you know." 

The words sounded like another one of her flirtatious gambits, but her tone was off. Flat. Chris set his glass down and walked over to the couch, sitting down so that he could see her face in the dim light. Her gaze was distant, almost vacant.

Haunted.

"Tonight?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. Before Allison and the boys made the sacrifice to the Nemeton. The Darach would have killed the sheriff and Melissa, too, but you were the one I dreamed about."

Despite the water he'd just swallowed down, his mouth was dry again. Full of rot and dust, like it'd been when he'd been tied up under that damned tree. "I thought you said you don't remember your dreams."

She smiled sadly. "Not often enough to be useful. But sometimes they come back to me later, in bits and pieces. I dreamed you died. You burned up. Fwoosh, just like that."

Chris shivered. He'd be a far more stupid man than he already was to not be unnerved by a banshee speaking prophetic words of his death. What unnerved him more, though, was the way her own words seemed to have carved out her insides. It felt like she was barely in the room, her breathing shallow, her skin pebbled with cold, corpse-pale in the moonlight.

"Lydia." He reached out, brushing her hair away from her cheek. She turned her head slowly, until she was facing him, but her eyes were still glassy. "Come on, Lydia. I'm right here. It didn't happen."

"What?"

He slipped his hand under her hair, catching the back of her neck in a light grip. "Lydia. Snap out of it, okay? I'm right here."

She blinked once, then sucked in a deep breath. She looked around them room, then up at him, her eyes full of life at last. "Sorry," she said with a tight smile. "I didn't mean for you to see that."

Chris sighed and dropped his hand away from her neck. "Does that kind of thing happen often?"

She hesitated. "I don't know," she said in a small voice. "I don't think so, but…. Well. I do have a history of losing time."

"You shouldn't try to hide that kind of stuff from us," he said. 

She snorted. "Why? So all my friends can look at me the way you are right now?"

Chris frowned. "How am I looking at you?"

Lydia shrugged one shoulder and looked down. "Like I'm some kind of fragile headcase who can't handle a few bad dreams."

Chris sat back against the cushions. "Right," he drawled. "Because that's exactly how everyone sees you. Oh, that Lydia Martin, she screams like a little girl whenever she sees a dead mouse. Can't trust her to do anything, much less take out a psychotic werewolf on her own."

Her mouth tightened. "I know what you're doing. And yes, I know that I'm a capable person, thank you very much. But that doesn't change the fact that you all…." She swallowed. "You think I'm pitiful sometimes."

"It's not pity, Lydia." Chris sighed. Victoria had been the same way; she'd loathed the merest hint of pity. The idea that anybody might think she wasn't strong enough to handle any problem that came her way. "It's concern. The same way you're concerned about Allison. About Stiles and Scott, too."

She looked up, meeting his eyes, and smiled slowly. "So you do care about me, then."

Snap. Just like that, her trap sprang shut, and Chris hadn't even known to look where he was stepping. 

He frowned at her, and the lines at the corners of her eyes deepened, tugging downwards even as she held her smile in place. No. He wasn't being fair to her. She hadn't been faking earlier, and he hadn't read her wrong. That, he would stake his life on.

She arched her delicate eyebrow at him. "So you don't care about me?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "You know I do, Lydia. But you need to stop."

She widened her eyes. "Stop what?"

"You know what."

All traces of the ingenue slipped off her face. She uncurled her legs and sat forward, eyes intent as she stared into his. "I'll stop," she said. "As soon as you stop lying."

"I'm not lying—" Chris cut himself off. Her expression had changed as soon as _lie_ formed on his lips. He was as fascinated as he was appalled, the way she could shift like that, faster than any werewolf, her eyes softening and her breath lifting her chest, turning her into an empty-headed starlet.

"Of course not, Mr. Argent," she simpered, trailing the tip of her nail down the hollow of his throat. "Silly ol' me will believe anything you say."

Chris caught her hand. "Fine," he said. "Just cut that out, all right? It's creepy."

She pulled her hand back, her lips quirking up, the gleam in her eyes completely satisfied. Completely Lydia.

Chris sighed. "You're beautiful, Lydia. You know that. And yes, I find you attractive. I shouldn't, but I do."

"Thank you," she said. "Now. What are we going to do about that?"

" _We_ are going to do nothing," he said. "Look, Lydia. I'm flattered, but it's never going to happen."

"Why?" Lydia ran her tongue over the edge of her teeth, openly assessing him with her gaze. "Because you're too _old_?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "Because you're too young. Do I really need to list all the reasons why it's a bad idea?"

"No, I'm perfectly clear on the theory." Lydia patted his hand, then stood up. 

Chris stayed put, waiting for her last move, not letting his gaze follow her as she walked around the couch. Her footsteps were silent on the soft carpet, but he could feel her the moment she stepped up behind him, the skin on his back prickling with anticipation before her hand settled against his shoulder blade.

"One question, though," she said, leaning in so her breath heated his ear. "How old were _you_ when you figured out everything you thought you knew about your life was a lie?"

Chris sucked in a breath.

"I'm just saying," she said, her hand and voice both gentle now. "Maybe you should think about that the next time you assume age equals wisdom."

* * *

"I don't know," Tilden said. He rapped his knuckles against the table, then reached for the half-crushed pack of cigarettes in front of them. They were in Tilden's motel room this time, the burns scarred into the peeling veneer tabletop proof enough that the ownership wouldn't care about Tilden violating the no-smoking sign. "It seems like a pretty convoluted gamble, if you ask me. Might be quicker to go after McCall. He's young. A little time with the right stimulation, he's not going to hold anything back."

"Sure," Chris said, nodding like he didn't care one way or the other. "But you know he was bitten, right?"

Tilden nodded. "Gerard told me some of that. About how Hale went insane and about took out half the town. I'm sorry about your sister, by the way. She was one of the best damn hunters I ever met."

"Thank you," Chris murmured. "She was always very...passionate about what she did."

A look flitted over Tilden's face, like he wanted to comment on Kate's _passionate_ nature but remembered just in time that he was talking to her brother. Instead, he used his lips to tug a cigarette out of the pack, though he didn't bother to light it. "So you were saying that McCall was turned, not born. You don't think he knows where this thing is?"

Chris shook his head. "I don't think McCall knows where his own ass is half the time, let alone any of the things he should know as the alpha of Beacon Hills. I'd say we could give it a shot anyway, but keep in mind that his best friend is the sheriff's son."

"And they're thick as thieves, I take it?"

Chris nodded. "They live out of each other's pockets."

"Nasty complication." Tilden popped his lip against his teeth. "Okay. So tell me more about this girl. You say she's your daughter's best friend, but she also runs with the McCall pack?"

This was the tricky part. Tilden, like most hunters, was suspicious of anyone who got too close to the monsters. Chris stroked his beard, grimacing like he wasn't sure how much he could trust Tilden.

"Aw, fuck it," he said. "Did Dad ever tell you why I got out of the game?"

Tilden eyed him up, then reached for his lighter. "He said you'd gone soft. Started feeling for your prey."

"He would," Chris muttered. "Look. You don't have kids, do you?"

Tilden shook his head. "Never really been the settling down type. Besides. I can't imagine bringing a child into a world like this. Not after some of the things I've seen."

"It's terrifying," Chris agreed with complete sincerity. He could still remember how helpless he'd felt the first time he'd held Allison. How tiny she'd been, how fragile, nothing more than a quick snack for a werewolf's jaws. He'd vowed then and there to raise her strong enough to keep herself safe, even though he'd never had any intention of letting her get close to his world.

Part of him wanted to curse Scott all over again, but the blame chain went a lot further back than one fairly pathetic teenaged kid.

He cleared his throat. "Anyway. Right after we moved to Beacon Hills, Allison fell head over heels for a boy. Her first real love."

"I'm sensing a punch line."

"Scott McCall."

Tilden sat back in his chair. "You're shitting me. And he's still alive?"

"I'll let you in on a little secret," Chris said. "The quickest way to turn your kids against you is to tell them what to do or who to date. If I'd killed McCall or any of his gang, I'd have lost her forever."

He'd found that out the hard way. And if Victoria hadn't tried to take matters into her own hands….

"But that didn't bother you at all? Your daughter dating one of them."

"Hell, yes, it bothered me," Chris growled. "Don't think I didn't watch him like a hawk. Don't think I didn't show him exactly what a hunter's arsenal can do to his kind. But I never let Allison see me do it. And it didn't take long for her to see what he really was."

Tilden cocked his head to the side. "You're playing a long game."

Chris nodded. "And it's working. She broke up with McCall on her own. She's growing up, starting to see the truth. She's going to outshine us all, one of these days."

Tilden lit his cigarette at last. He took a drag, then blew it out in a long stream, considering gaze locked on Chris the whole time. "That's the best thing I've heard out of your mouth since I met you. But it still doesn't explain why you think this girl is our ticket."

"Allison might be past her rebellious stage, but the Martin girl is still in deep with the pack." Chris's stomach churned, the acrid smoke wafting around his head not mixing well with his nerves as he let the carefully shaped lies drop out of his mouth. "She's a real Wicca type, all into earth magic, that kind of thing. I think she fancies herself as some kind of emissary in training."

Tilden sat forward. "You think she knows where the Nemeton is?"

Chris nodded. "If anybody does, it's her." He glanced to the side, like he was checking for hidden eavesdroppers, and lowered his voice. "Peter Hale implanted some of his memories in her. That's how we finally put him down."

Tilden's eyebrow climbed. "Fair enough. You think your daughter can get her to spill the beans?"

Chris shut his mouth mid-breath. Damn. Of course Tilden would latch onto the most logical solution; it was what they were trained to do. The possibility hadn't even come up when they'd hashed out the idea. Lydia's brain was far too devious for her own good sometimes.

"I want to leave Allison out of this," Chris finally said, hoping Tilden would respect that much. "But it'll be easy enough without her, anyway. Martin is nosy as hell. I leave a few papers out, drop a few hints that their precious power source is in danger, and she'll lead us right to it."

Tilden sat back, lips pursed as he stared at Chris. "Okay," he said, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. "It's your territory, retired or not. We'll try it the hard way first."

Chris raised both eyebrows. "What's the easy way?"

Tilden picked up his lighter again and flicked it. "We burn the whole damn forest down."

* * *

"All right," Allison said, snapping the locks back into place on her bow case before she turned towards them. "It should take me about ten minutes to get into place once I get there. Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

Her words were aimed at Lydia, but her eyes flicked up to meet his, just for a second. Chris arched an eyebrow. He was proud of how she'd stepped into the leadership role recently, but sometimes she forgot who the parent was. Yes, he and Lydia would be in the direct line of fire tonight, but Allison's life was ultimately the one on the line. Of course he was going to go through with this.

"Don't be ridiculous," Lydia snapped. "It was my idea in the first place. Of course I want to go through with this."

Allison grinned. "Hey, I'm required to ask, you know."

"Hunter code?" Lydia asked.

Allison shook her head. "Best friend code."

They surged towards each other, throwing themselves into a quick, tight hug. Allison mumbled something Chris couldn't quite make out, and then they parted.

"Remember, we'll be right there. If Tilden so much as thinks of hurting you—"

"Then you'll let him do it," Lydia said firmly. "You've got to remember what's at stake, Allison. This is bigger than me getting slapped around a little."

Allison's mouth tightened at the same time his own did. "I know," she said. "But don't underestimate him, Lydia. If things start to go bad, don't hesitate to get out of there. We'll come up with another plan if we have to."

"Oh, believe me, I will be out of there so fast, you'll think I was a werewolf." Lydia smiled tightly. "You be careful too, okay?"

"I will." Allison looked up at Chris again, and he nodded. She picked up her pack and bow, and Chris saw her to the door. They'd already exchanged all the words they needed to, but Chris dropped a quick kiss to her forehead. Allison smiled at him, then slipped down the hall, quieter than any cat.

He locked the door, then turned back. Lydia stood where they'd left her, her shoulders sagging, every trace of the brave face she'd put on for Allison stripped away. She was already dressed for the evening, wearing a long, floaty white dress that was nothing like the short skirts and fitted tops she usually preferred. Chris could see why she'd chosen it; with her pale skin and bright hair, she looked delicate. Ethereal. She'd play right into Tilden's preconceptions.

She looked up, then, and her posture stiffened. "Don't even think about saying it. I'm doing this."

He couldn't help his smile. "I know."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "You're not going to try to give me another out?"

"Do you want one?"

She hesitated for a second, then lifted her chin. "No, of course not. I just thought you'd get all he-man protective."

Chris snorted. "You forget that I'm a hunter. We know which is the stronger sex." He frowned. "Though I would feel a lot better if you'd take one of Allison's knives."

"And what, exactly, would I do with it? Trip over the hem of this dress and eviscerate myself?"

"Yeah, maybe not." He stepped forward, frowning as he looked down at her. "After this is over, we should start working on your self-defense. At least let me get you comfortable with a knife."

She gave him an odd look. "I don't think that's an offer you want to make," she said softly. "Mr. Argent."

Chris stilled. She was right, of course. He hadn't been thinking beyond the need to see her safe when he made the offer, but even if he kept his hands to himself, spending that much time with her, teaching her, would be near unbearable for both of them. 

Lydia had kept her word after their conversation the other night. She hadn't flirted with him at all. Hadn't made any double entendres, hadn't smirked at him once while she was licking her lips clean at dinner. She'd worn another negligee last night, but she'd covered it up with a long-sleeved shirt stolen from Allison's closet whenever she walked around the apartment.

Somehow, Lydia being on her best behavior had just made the situation worse. Maybe because without all that teenage crap in the way, it felt too real when their gazes would catch and hold from across the room. Or maybe it was all on him. If only he could stop staring at her, stop wanting to reach out and brush the hair away from her face, then she wouldn't look back at him the way she was right now.

"Allison, then," he said at last, his voice full of dust. "She'd probably be a better teacher for you, anyway."

She cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowing. "You know I'm not like—" She pressed her lips together. "I'm not like Allison, and I never will be, even if I learn how to use every weapon in your arsenal." She tapped her finger against her temple. "This is my weapon, and I'm okay with that, even if it means I have to keep playing the damsel in distress."

It was easy enough guess at the comparison Lydia had been going to make before she'd censored herself. _I'm not like Victoria._ And she wasn't like Victoria, not in this. Victoria always swore that she'd do anything to keep Allison safe, but she never would have even thought of Lydia's plan, let alone played along with it.

Chris sighed. "Consider it, please. I know you have other ways of taking care of yourself, but it'd make me feel better if you knew how to fight." He smiled tightly. "I guess I'm just an old dog who can't conceive of any new tricks."

Lydia smiled tightly. "So you keep telling me, anyway." She glanced away, towards the clock. "I should get going."

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

She arched an eyebrow at him. "I thought you said you weren't going to give me an out."

"I lied," Chris said. "Apparently, I'm good at that."

She snorted, smiling up at him with more sadness than amusement in her eyes.

"Lydia—"

She shook her head sharply. "Don't. I'm doing this. Now."

Before he could say anything more, she took a step forward and stretched up on her tiptoes, throwing her arms around his shoulders and brushing her lips across his cheek. Chris had barely started to get his arms up to return the awkward hug when she let go and spun away. She grabbed her heavy wool coat off the couch, then raced out the door, letting it slam behind her.

Chris slowly wiped the waxy trace of lipstick off his cheek. Then he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Tilden's number.

* * *

Tilden struck, and Lydia crumpled to the ground. 

Chris barely stifled his cry. He lunged forward, but at the last second he managed to turn his instinctive action into a purposeful stride, crossing the clearing quickly to where Lydia had fallen. Tilden stood over her, peering down with pursed lips. Chris knelt smoothly, working quickly to hide the betraying shakiness in his hands. She was out cold, but her pulse was steady and strong, her breathing even.

"Here," Tilden said. Clear plastic gleamed in the beam of Tilden's flashlight. Chris snagged the zip ties out of his hand. "Gag her, too, if you've got something. Who knows what kind of magic she can pull off if you let her speak."

 _You have no idea,_ Chris thought, but he kept his head down, jaw clenched against the angry words he wanted to shout at Tilden. It was crucial that he played his part to the fullest so that Tilden believed he was enthusiastically cooperating, and if that meant he had to be a little rougher than he wanted to be when he jerked Lydia's arms behind her to bind her wrists, then so be it. He didn't bother with her ankles, sure that he could come up with some kind of believable excuse if Tilden noticed. For a gag, he unwound the scarf from around his own neck, tying it around her mouth rather than stuffing it inside.

Chris stood up, surveying his work. Her bright hair was twisted and bunched around her head by the scarf, which didn't bite into her jaw nearly enough to appear halfway effective. Her wrists were bound behind her, yes, but there was a gap between her palms, and it was obvious from the way she was lying that her ankles were unsecured. 

Never mind giving him a failing grade in securing the prisoner; Gerard would have been able to read the truth of his too-soft heart to in a single glance. 

Luckily, Tilden was already engrossed in his work, using one of the Super Soakers he'd brought to drench the oak, the smell of turpentine thick in the air. Chris took the chance to pick Lydia up, cradling her in his arms as he carried her back to where they'd dropped their supplies, still within their line of sight but not so close to the coming conflagration. He wished he could justify tucking his own coat under her head, but he confined himself to making sure her neck wasn't twisted and that her hands weren't taking her full weight. Then he picked up a second Super Soaker and went to work.

The tree was old and majestic, yes, and the pack had done something to it to make it glow ever so slightly in the moonlight. Glitter, maybe. But Chris could pick out areas where the budding leaves had been blighted by more than the unseasonable frost. He didn't bother to hold back his smirk; Derek's sacrifice wasn't quite as grand as it appeared at first glance. 

Chris had just emptied his own Super Soaker, Tilden most of the way through his second, when the hairs on the back of his neck crawled upward. He turned around as Scott crested the hill, Derek and Isaac flanking him. All three wore their human faces.

All three were staring at Lydia's unconscious form.

Chris willed Scott to look over. Willed them all to remain calm. The last thing they needed was for the pack to escalate this to something deadly. 

"Well, well, well," Tilden said, stepping forward to face the werewolves. "I wondered if anyone would bother to put up some resistance."

Scott took a couple steps forward. Derek and Isaac stayed put, perfect bodyguard statues. Chris himself moved to Tilden's side, cradling the spent Super Soaker in his arms in a bravado stance, like he would do with a shotgun or a high-powered rifle. At this point, the thing was more of a danger to himself than it was to the pack, the fumes inside the plastic casing a perfect ticking time bomb. They didn't know that, though.

Tilden would understand what he was doing. Intimidation was the name of the game when you squared off with creatures who followed the guy with the biggest punch.

"This can still end peacefully," Scott said. "Pack up your things and go, and nobody gets hurt."

"Sure," Tilden said, nodding. "Right after we take care of this abomination behind us."

"That's not how this works." Scott took another step forward, flashing his claws out. Chris frowned at him, but Scott was focused on Tilden. "There's three of us and two of you. I wouldn't be a fan of those odds, if I were you."

"Maybe not," Tilden said softly. He wasn't the kind of hunter who needed to bluster and shout, not when he knew that his quarry could hear a squirrel taking a dump half a mile away. "But I wonder, Mr. McCall, how you'll like those odds once you're on fire."

He lifted his Super Soaker, sloshing it around to demonstrate that there was plenty of fuel inside. Chris breathed in and out, slow and steady, praying that Tilden was making his own play at intimidation. He didn't think Tilden was crazy enough to go through with it, not when turpentine vapor hung strong in the air all around them, but all of a sudden all he could think of Lydia's vacant eyes, the way her voice had quavered when she'd told him about her dream. _You burned up. Fwoosh, just like that._

"You wouldn't," Scott said, gaze flicking over to Chris. "You'd get caught in it yourself."

"Maybe, maybe not," Tilden said, shrugging. "I guess you've got to ask yourself just how determined I am. And whether you're willing to risk it just to save some stupid tree. Maybe Mr. Hale over there could add his two cents on the matter. From what I understand, he's quite familiar with how well werewolves handle fire."

Scott was a good kid, becoming a good leader, but he didn't have the experience that a couple of aging hunters did. He wasn't cold enough to stand there without glancing over at Derek. Hale's only reaction was to tighten his fists—no more, no less than Chris had ever been able to provoke from him. Isaac was the one who broke, eyes flashing golden and staying that way.

"Think carefully, boys," Chris said.

"Fine," Scott said, slowly walking backwards until he was shoulder-to-shoulder with Isaac and Derek once again. "You win this one. But if you're not out of Beacon Hills by tomorrow night, things are going to go down a little differently between us."

Tilden smiled. "Once this thing is gone, I've got no reason to stick around. Not unless you give me one."

Scott nodded sharply. He turned on his heel, stalking off like a cat with its back up. Derek and Isaac dropped to all fours and followed him, finally slipping out of sight.

"Fuck," Tilden mouthed, letting his Super Soaker drop to his side. The boys had put on a good show, good enough that Tilden was swiping sweat off his brow. "I thought we were done for sure."

Chris huffed out a laugh. "Good thing you have the balls of a brass monkey."

"Sometimes I'm pretty sure I have the brains of one, too." He slapped Chris's shoulder. "Come on. Let's finish this."

It only took a matter of moments to finish coating the tree and then pack up their supplies. Tilden pulled out a flare gun out of his pack.

"You wanna do the honors?" he asked.

"Gerard entrusted you," Chris said, shaking his head. "I'll get the girl."

"Well, I'm not gonna try to convince you otherwise." There was a grin in Tilden's voice, that little boy anticipation of making something go boom, but right now Chris didn't give a damn about how the guy got his jollies.

Chris knelt at Lydia's side. Indecision hit him once again; it'd be far easier, and more keeping in character, to simply toss her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Instead, he slid one arm under her knees, the other under her shoulders, and started to stand.

Lydia's eyes popped open. Fury blazed out of them, her eyebrows drawn so fiercely together that they met in the middle. Chris raised an eyebrow back at her, and she flicked her eyes towards where her shoulder met his chest. The message was as clear as any he'd ever gotten from Victoria in a single glance:

_Fuck this up because you're trying to baby me out of some chauvinistic impulse, and your ass is grass, Mister._

For a moment, he could only stare down at her, heart pounding as the strength of her will hit him straight in the chest. Then he swung her up to his shoulder and stared down the hill. 

Bright white light and a thunderous pop exploded behind him, immediately followed by a huge whoosh and a shockwave of heat. Chris tightened his grip around Lydia's legs, and kept walking.

* * *

He scrubbed at his smoke-irritated eyes with his hand. The coffee pot was burbling away behind him, but if it took much longer he'd be asleep before he had a chance at his first cup. They'd stayed until nearly dawn, watching the fake Nemeton burn, Chris with a wary eye on the surrounding hillside, Tilden with a frightening gleam in his eyes. 

Chris's phone buzzed with an incoming text. Derek, giving the all clear—Tilden had checked out of his hotel and headed out of town. Chris sagged against the counter. Tilden, at least, believed in a hunter's honor. Before they'd parted, he'd shaken Chris' hand and offered his help 'any time things got out of hand again,' and Chris was sure he'd meant it.

Tilden might have been a likable guy, if he hadn't also been so full of a hunter's hate.

"I'm going to assume there's enough in that pot for me, too," Lydia said.

Allison and the others had gone to school, despite being exhausted, to keep up appearances in case Tilden suddenly got snoopy. It hadn't been an option for Lydia, even if she hadn't been knocked on the head and tied up all night. Chris had promised Tilden that he'd make sure _the girl didn't cause any trouble_.

There was no way he was going to take any chance that Tilden might decide he needed to hush her up, himself.

"Coffee?" she prompted.

Chris pushed away from the counter and turned to grab another mug out of the cabinet. "Not worried about your enamel anymore?"

"Please," she said. "I have a knot on my head the size of Las Vegas. You think I care about my teeth right now?"

"It wouldn't be the top of my own priority list," Chris agreed. There was just enough coffee in the pot right now to fill a cup. He stuck his own mug under the drip while he filled hers, then switched them out again before turning to hand hers over.

"Thanks," she murmured. She brushed her damp hair away from her face, then closed her eyes as she drank.

Chris tried to keep his gaze on her face. She'd forgone the skimpy negligee in favor of an oversized T-shirt, but if anything, it was even more immodest. The thin white cotton clung to her skin, like she hadn't made much effort to dry off after her shower before she'd tugged it on. Her hair had left a wet patches above her breasts, turning the material almost translucent.

She turned slightly, and he caught sight of the thin tears across the back of the shirt, just like a werewolf managed to slash a couple claws across a shoulder blade.

"Is that mine?" he asked, voice spiking.

"Hmm," she said, unconcerned. "I suppose so. I found it in Allison's drawer."

"Right." Chris cleared his throat. He didn't know if she'd done it on purpose, but his shirt being the only thing on her skin was too much for him right now. He turned back towards the coffee machine to fill his own mug.

"I don't remember if I thanked you," she said from right behind him, just as he was setting the carafe back on the burner. "Thank you."

"You've got nothing to thank me for," he said, starting to turn—but then she hugged him from behind, arms threaded under his, palms flat against his chest, her whole front pressed against his back. For a moment, he froze, standing stock-still while she held him tight, fighting the urge to finish his turn so he could take her into his arms like he wanted.

Lydia sighed, her breath hot between his shoulder blades. "Just let me have this, okay? I just need a few seconds."

Chris closed his eyes.

After her requested moment, she loosened her arms and stepped back. Chris spun around before she could move completely away and caught her by the wrist.

She stared up at him with wide eyes.

"Will you be honest with me?" he asked. She opened her mouth, but he held up a finger. "The truth, Lydia. Not what you think I want to hear."

For a second, her eyes darted as if he'd asked her to face down Peter Hale all over again. Then her gaze firmed and she nodded. "If you are with me."

He gentled his grip on her wrist, turning his hand so that her hand was cradled in his palm, his thumb resting over the tender skin. "Is this just a game to you?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Is that what you think it is?"

He shrugged. "Honestly? I don't know. It wouldn't be the first time a young girl decided to use me to hone her sexuality."

Her fingers tightened around his. Chris had no idea if Lydia had any inkling of the truth, if there was any possible way she suspected that Kate used to mess with his head, back when his sister first started to realize how attractive she was. He'd had to shoot her down hard, more than once, until she finally stopped. It'd left a taint on their relationship, though, a whisper in the back of his head that always made him slightly uncomfortable in Kate's presence, tended to make him slightly short with her, impatient to get out of the room. 

Maybe that was why he'd completely missed the fact that she'd become a mass murderer.

Lydia Martin wasn't his sister, though. She was just a beautiful eighteen-year-old standing in the middle of his kitchen, wearing nothing more than one of his old T-shirts, gently holding his hand after she'd saved his daughter's life.

"It can be that, if you want," Lydia said quietly. "If that's what you need it to be. You can tell yourself I'm just a confused little child looking for a big strong man to save her."

Chris swallowed. "What I want is you to be honest with me. Like you promised."

She looked up at him. "Then I don't know what more it is you want, because that's what I've been with you all along. I just want you, Chris. Is that so wrong?"

"We both know it is," he said, and then he tugged her forward and dipped his head. 

Lydia met him halfway, her body straining upward against his as their mouths met ferociously. A whimper escaped his throat, and Lydia took it as encouragement, launching herself upwards until her legs were wrapped around his waist. Chris spun around, bracing her ass on the countertop as he ground his cock against her heat. Lydia groaned and dug her nails into his back.

"God, yes," she hissed. "Don't hold back with me, Chris. Don't you dare."

He had no control. None. He'd gone on a few dates in the years since Victoria's death, had a few one-night stands, but it'd been far too long since he'd held a woman he cared about in his arms. He skimmed his hands up under the thin T-shirt, running his hands up her ribcage until he got his thumbs on her nipples. Lydia let out a wail, then retaliated by biting him on the neck.

"Fuck!"

"Yes," Lydia said, rocking against him. "And now would be good."

He pulled back, just far enough that he could see her face.

"Don't you dare question what I want again," Lydia snapped. She ran her nails down his bare chest, then slid her hand beneath the waistband of his jeans until she found his cock. "I know exactly what I want, and it's right here."

It was hard to think with her hand on his dick, but Victoria had been every bit the tiger that Lydia was. She'd pushed his limits, time and time again, so somehow he found a touch of the control he'd been lacking before. He dipped his head so he could catch Lydia's earlobe between his teeth. He tugged until she gasped and her grip eased.

"I think I do want to question what you want," he whispered into her ear. "I think I want to hear exactly what it is you want me to do to you."

"I want you to fuck me," Lydia said without hesitating. "I want you to stuff me full of your cock until I can't see straight. I want you to fuck me until I'm so sore I can barely walk, and then I want you to fuck me again."

"Jesus." He almost opened his fly and shoved into her right then, but he wasn't go to do this on his kitchen counter, and he wasn't going to do it without protection. Instead, he picked her up again, making sure she had a good strong grip on his waist, and walked them both to his bedroom.

"Off," he said. Lydia let go of him, let him drop her onto his bed without protest. She bounced a little as she landed, her knees spreading, proving that he'd been right that the T-shirt was the only thing she had on. For a long moment, he just stared at her, letting her see the heat in his eyes, and then he turned around and yanked open the drawer of his nightstand, pulling a condom out of his stash.

He glanced over at Lydia, and grabbed a second.

"Good plan," she said. She was lying on her side, head propped on her hand, completely naked. She was every bit as beautiful as he'd imagined, but part of him wished she'd left his shirt on.

Later, maybe. Chris was pretty sure she'd go for it if he asked her.

He stripped off his jeans, got the condom on, and then laid down beside her. "Tell me more about what you want," he said, running his hand up the inside of her thigh. He pressed his knuckles against her wetness, rubbing teasingly until she was panting and rocking against him. "Do you want me to get you off with my fingers? Do you want me to eat you out?"

Lydia whimpered. "All of it, but later. Right now I need your cock."

"Then come here," he said, drawing her leg over his thigh. Lydia reached between them, grabbing hold of his cock and guiding it into her as he pushed in. Chris grunted as she took him in, watching her face as she sighed and bit at her lips.

"Good?" he asked, voice tight. "Is this what you want?"

She nodded fervently. "Faster," she said. "Harder."

He started thrusting, but slow and smooth. A little because he wanted to tease her, get her really revved up, but mostly because he couldn't move fast like this. He loved this position, loved how deep he could get, but he could tell already they weren't going to finish up this way. Lydia was tiny compared to Victoria, which meant he needed to think about things about things differently.

Lydia whimpered again, but it wasn't a good sound this time. "You promised," she said. "Chris, please."

"Hang on." He pulled out, then sat up and drew her back to him. She swung her leg over his thighs and sank down on him again. He could feel the difference right away, the way the breath caught in her chest and she started to rock before he was even all the way in. He got his hands under her ass and stood, somehow managing the three steps between the edge of the bed and his bedroom door without killing either one of them. He braced her back against the door—and then he started thrusting.

"Oh, God," Lydia wailed. "Yes, just like that."

It was fast and hard after that, no room for anymore questions or negotiations. He pounded into her, her breasts bouncing against his chest, her head smacking against the door until he managed to get his hand up to protect the back of her skull. She cried out with every thrust, the pitch getting higher and higher until he was afraid she might let loose with a true banshee scream. He kept fucking her anyway, just like she'd asked—and then she clenched around him, her whole body going rigid as she came around his cock. Chris followed her over the edge, letting out a deep groan as he came.

For a few moments, all he could do was stand there and breathe as the aftershocks coursed through them both, hoping that his jelly legs would keep them from crashing to the ground. Then Lydia let out a sound that might have been a sob. Might have been a laugh. He couldn't tell.

"You okay?" he asked.

She raised her head and let out another choking giggle. "That was actually amazing," she said. Her pupils were wide and dark. Blissed out. "I thought there was no way, not after all the build up, but no, you showed me, all right."

Chris snorted. "Glad to be of service," he said. "Does that mean I can go pass out now?"

She giggled again, but let her legs down so Chris could pull out. He cleaned himself up, then they both stumbled over to his bed.

"You've earned yourself a nap," she said, then yawned herself. "But I am so not done with you yet."

"Later," he agreed. Later, they'd have to consider what they'd done, and where they were going from here. But right now he tugged Lydia closer, until her head was resting comfortably on his chest, and closed his eyes.

* * *

"Chris. Chris, please." Victoria's eyes glitter gold in the moonlight, but Chris can still see the fear. "It hurts, Chris. Make it stop."

"I'm trying," he says, kissing her forehead. The knife is slick in his hand, but sticky too, too much blood built up on the haft as he sinks the blade into her heart yet again. He doesn't remember how many times he's done this, but this time will be the last.

It has to be.

"Chris," she says. "I'm so scared."

"I know, baby," he says, kissing her again. "I'm trying."

A hand curls around his own, stopping his next thrust.

"Shhh," Lydia whispers from where she's curled against Victoria's back. She pushes herself up on her elbow, leaning down to press a kiss against Victoria's forehead, the same spot Chris's own lips know so well. "It's okay. Just let go."

"But—" Chris and Victoria say at the same time.

"Shhh," Lydia says again. She looks over at him, and her eyes are the night sky, limitless and full of starlight, a nexus to another world. "We're waiting. It's time to let go."

Victoria looks up at him—and nods.

Chris lets go of the knife.

* * *

"Chris."

"Chris, wake up."

He opened his eyes. The room was dim, just enough light for him to make out Lydia's drawn eyebrows as she stared down at him.

"Hey," he said, brushing her hair back over her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"You were dreaming." She cupped his cheek, rubbing her thumb against his beard before she reached up to smooth her fingers against the lines embedded in his forehead. "You said my name."

"I did?" He frowned, but whatever the dream had been, he couldn't even find fragments of it now. All he could remember was drifting off to sleep, Lydia warm at his side. He smiled up at her, but lines of consternation were still scribbled between her eyebrows. "I'd think that be a good thing."

"Maybe." She let out a sigh. "Was it, though?"

"You're asking if I'm regretting what I did."

"No. I know you regret it," she said, and now she smiled, that sad little Mona Lisa curve that meant she was being too serious for her own good. "I'm asking if you're going to break my heart."

His breath caught. He should. He should say yes. Do it now, while it was nothing more than ripping a strip of duct tape away from the skin.

"Come here," he said instead, pulling her down on top of him, shifting until she was settled snug against his side, chasing away the chill of the bedroom once again. "Shhh. I've got you now."

"Do you?" she asked, resting her hand on his chest.

"If that's what you want," he said softly. He curled his fingers around hers, drawing her hand down until it was just above his own heart. "But be sure you know what you're asking for, because I don't let go easy."

"Good," she said, raising their hands so she could brush a kiss across his knuckles. "Because neither do I."

END


End file.
